Resurrection
old carts. The arguments brought forward by those in government service,
who said that the things which aroused his indignation were simply due
to the imperfect arrangements of the places of confinement, and that
they could all be put to rights if prisons of a modern type were built,
did not satisfy Nekhludoff, because he knew that what revolted him was
not the consequence of a better or worse arrangement of the prisons.
He had read of model prisons with electric bells, of executions by
electricity, recommended by Tard; but this refined kind of violence
revolted him even more.
But what revolted Nekhludoff most was that there were men in the law
courts and in the ministry who received large salaries, taken from the
people, for referring to books written by men like themselves and with
like motives, and sorting actions that violated laws made by themselves
according to different statutes; and, in obedience to these statutes,
sending those guilty of such actions to places where they were
completely at the mercy of cruel, hardened inspectors, jailers, convoy
soldiers, where millions of them perished body and soul.
Now that he had a closer knowledge of prisons, Nekhludoff found out
that all those vices which developed among the prisoners--drunkenness,
gambling, cruelty, and all these terrible crimes, even cannibalism--were
not casual, or due to degeneration or to the existence of monstrosities
of the criminal type, as science, going hand in hand with the
government, explained it, but an unavoidable consequence of the
incomprehensible delusion that men may punish one another. Nekhludoff
saw that cannibalism did not commence in the marshes, but in the
ministry. He saw that his brother-in-law, for example, and, in fact, all
the lawyers and officials, from the usher to the minister, do not care
in the least for justice or the good of the people about whom they
spoke, but only for the roubles they were paid for doing the things that
were the source whence all this degradation and suffering flowed. This
was quite evident.
“Can it be, then, that all this is done simply through misapprehension?
Could it not be managed that all these officials should have their
salaries secured to them, and a premium paid them, besides, so that
they should leave off, doing all that they were doing now?” Nekhludoff
thought, and in spite of the fleas, that seemed to spring up round him
like water from a fountain whenever he moved, he fell fast asleep.
CHAPTER XX.
THE JOURNEY RESUMED.
The carters had left the inn long before Nekhludoff awoke. The landlady
had had her tea, and came in wiping her fat, perspiring neck with
her handkerchief, and said that a soldier had brought a note from
the halting station. The note was from Mary Pavlovna. She wrote that
Kryltzoff’s attack was more serious than they had imagined. “We wished
him to be left behind and to remain with him, but this has not been
allowed, so that we shall take him on; but we fear the worst. Please
arrange so that if he should be left in the next town, one of us might
remain with him. If in order to get the permission to stay I should be
obliged to get married to him, I am of course ready to do so.”
Nekhludoff sent the young labourer to the post station to order horses
and began packing up hurriedly. Before he had drunk his second tumbler
of tea the three-horsed postcart drove up to the porch with ringing
bells, the wheels rattling on the frozen mud as on stones. Nekhludoff
paid the fat-necked landlady, hurried out and got into the cart,
and gave orders to the driver to go on as fast as possible, so as to
overtake the gang. Just past the gates of the commune pasture ground
they did overtake the carts, loaded with sacks and the sick prisoners,
as they rattled over the frozen mud, that was just beginning to be
rolled smooth by the wheels (the officer was not there, he had gone in
advance). The soldiers, who had evidently been drinking, followed by the
side of the road, chatting merrily. There were a great many carts. In
each of the first carts sat six invalid criminal convicts, close packed.
On each of the last two were three political prisoners. Novodvoroff,
Grabetz and Kondratieff sat on one, Rintzeva, Nabatoff and the woman to
whom Mary Pavlovna had given up her own place on the other, and on one
of the carts lay Kryltzoff on a heap of hay, with a pillow under his
head, and Mary Pavlovna sat by him on the edge of the cart. Nekhludoff
ordered his driver to stop, got out and went up to Kryltzoff. One of
the tipsy soldiers waved his hand towards Nekhludoff, but he paid no
attention and started walking by Kryltzoff’s side, holding on to the
side of the cart with his hand. Dressed in a sheepskin coat, with a fur
cap on his head and his mouth bound up with a handkerchief, he seemed
paler and thinner than ever. His beautiful eyes looked very large and
brilliant. Shaken from side to side by the jottings of the cart, he lay
with his eyes fixed on Nekhludoff; but when asked about his health, he
only closed his eyes and angrily shook his head. All his energy seemed
to be needed in order to bear the jolting of the cart. Mary Pavlovna was
on the other side. She exchanged a significant glance with Nekhludoff,
which expressed all her anxiety about Kryltzoff’s state, and then began
to talk at once in a cheerful manner.
“It seems the officer is ashamed of himself,” she shouted, so as to be
heard above the rattle of the wheels. “Bousovkin’s manacles have
been removed, and he is carrying his little girl himself. Katusha and
Simonson are with him, and Vera, too. She has taken my place.”
Kryltzoff said something that could not be heard because of the noise,
and frowning in the effort to repress his cough shook his head. Then
Nekhludoff stooped towards him, so as to hear, and Kryltzoff, freeing
his mouth of the handkerchief, whispered:
“Much better now. Only not to catch cold.”
Nekhludoff nodded in acquiescence, and again exchanged a glance with
Mary Pavlovna.
“How about the problem of the three bodies?” whispered Kryltzoff,
smiling with great difficulty. “The solution is difficult.”
Nekhludoff did not understand, but Mary Pavlovna explained that he meant
the well-known mathematical problem which defined the position of the
sun, moon and earth, which Kryltzoff compared to the relations between
Nekhludoff, Katusha and Simonson. Kryltzoff nodded, to show that Mary
Pavlovna had explained his joke correctly.
“The decision does not lie with me,” Nekhludoff said.
“Did you get my note? Will you do it?” Mary Pavlovna asked.
“Certainly,” answered Nekhludoff; and noticing a look of displeasure on
Kryltzoff’s face, he returned to his conveyance, and holding with both
hands to the sides of the cart, got in, which jolted with him over the
ruts of the rough road. He passed the gang, which, with its grey cloaks
and sheepskin coats, chains and manacles, stretched over three-quarters
of a mile of the road. On the opposite side of the road Nekhludoff
noticed Katusha’s blue shawl, Vera Doukhova’s black coat, and Simonson’s
crochet cap, white worsted stockings, with bands, like those of sandals,
tied round him. Simonson was walking with the woman and carrying on a
heated discussion.
When they saw Nekhludoff they bowed to him, and Simonson raised his hat
in a solemn manner. Nekhludoff, having nothing to say, did not stop, and
was soon ahead of the carts. Having got again on to a smoother part of
the road, they drove still more quickly, but they had continually to
turn aside to let pass long rows of carts that were moving along the
road in both directions.
The road, which was cut up by deep ruts, lay through a thick pine
forest, mingled with birch trees and larches, bright with yellow leaves
they had not yet shed. By the time Nekhludoff had passed about half the
gang he reached the end of the forest. Fields now lay stretched along
both sides of the road, and the crosses and cupolas of a monastery
appeared in the distance. The clouds had dispersed, and it had cleared
up completely; the leaves, the frozen puddles and the gilt crosses and
cupolas of the monastery glittered brightly in the sun that had risen
above the forest. A little to the right mountains began to gleam white
in the blue-grey distance, and the trap entered a large village.
The village street was full of people, both Russians and other
nationalities, wearing peculiar caps and cloaks. Tipsy men and women
crowded and chattered round booths, traktirs, public houses and carts.
The vicinity of a town was noticeable. Giving a pull and a lash of the
whip to the horse on his right, the driver sat down sideways on the
right edge of the seat, so that the reins hung over that side, and with
evident desire of showing off, he drove quickly down to the river, which
had to be crossed by a ferry. The raft was coming towards them, and
had reached the middle of the river. About twenty carts were waiting to
cross. Nekhludoff had not long to wait. The raft, which had been pulled
far up the stream, quickly approached the landing, carried by the swift
waters. The tall, silent, broad-shouldered, muscular ferryman, dressed
in sheepskins, threw the ropes and moored the raft with practised hand,
landed the carts that were on it, and put those that were waiting on
the bank on board. The whole raft was filled with vehicles and horses
shuffling at the sight of the water. The broad, swift river splashed
against the sides of the ferryboats, tightening their moorings.
When the raft was full, and Nekhludoff’s cart, with the horses taken out
of it, stood closely surrounded by other carts on the side of the raft,
the ferryman barred the entrance, and, paying no heed to the prayers of
those who had not found room in the raft, unfastened the ropes and set
off.
All was quiet on the raft; one could hear nothing but the tramp of the
ferryman’s boots and the horses changing from foot to foot.
CHAPTER XXI.
“JUST A WORTHLESS TRAMP.”
Nekhludoff stood on the edge of the raft looking at the broad river. Two
pictures kept rising up in his mind. One, that of Kryltzoff, unprepared
for death and dying, made a heavy, sorrowful impression on him. The
other, that of Katusha, full of energy, having gained the love of such a
man as Simonson, and found a true and solid path towards righteousness,
should have been pleasant, yet it also created a heavy impression on
Nekhludoff’s mind, and he could not conquer this impression.
The vibrating sounds of a big brass bell reached them from the town.
Nekhludoff’s driver, who stood by his side, and the other men on the
raft raised their caps and crossed themselves, all except a short,
dishevelled old man, who stood close to the railway and whom Nekhludoff
had not noticed before. He did not cross himself, but raised his head
and looked at Nekhludoff. This old man wore a patched coat, cloth
trousers and worn and patched shoes. He had a small wallet on his back,
and a high fur cap with the fur much rubbed on his head.
“Why don’t you pray, old chap?” asked Nekhludoff’s driver as he replaced
and straightened his cap. “Are you unbaptized?”
“Who’s one to pray to?” asked the old man quickly, in a determinately
aggressive tone.
“To whom? To God, of course,” said the driver sarcastically.
“And you just show me where he is, that god.” There was something so
serious and firm in the expression of the old man, that the driver felt
that he had to do with a strong-minded man, and was a bit abashed. And
trying not to show this, not to be silenced, and not to be put to shame
before the crowd that was observing them, he answered quickly.
“Where? In heaven, of course.”
“And have you been up there?”
“Whether I’ve been or not, every one knows that you must pray to God.”